The two envelops arrive on the same day in the mailbox, heavy cream paper and elegant typewriting – Emma snorts through her nose before she even opens hers, the logo of Storybrooke High in the corner enough to tell her exactly what the content of both missives is. She grabs her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and types a simple 'wanna go to prom, champ?' that she sends with a press of the thumb.

The answering text arrives moments later, an equally concise 'Will they play Adele songs?' that has her laugh out loud as she rips the envelop open to read the invitation card.

And it's what she expected alright – high school reunion, ten years later – so her eyes dart to the date before she checks the calendar on her phone, just to make sure. The reunion is in two month's time, too far away in the future for Emma to have anything scheduled, but it seems to be a weekend off for Killian so she puts a reminder there and then moves around the apartment to turn on her laptop and book the plane tickets.

It's weird, thinking about going back now – she and August all but ran away once the house was sold, Marco's death the perfect excuse never to set foot in this town ever again – but it's exciting too in ways she can't exactly explain. Perhaps because she hasn't seen her friends in a very long time, only the odd phone call and Skype session as they drifted apart through the years.

Killian comes home – home! – when she's still browsing through American Airline's website, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head before navigating through the kitchen to pour himself a drink of milk. She smiles softly as she books two tickets, New York-Portland and fourth, a shiver of excitation running down her spine.

…

All their clothes and things fit in a carry-on bag, since they only planned to spend the week-end – Killian's first class on Monday is at 8, after all – and Emma can't help but think how disgustingly domestic they are as they pass the security check without a hitch. They even rent a car and everything, which has her roll her eyes more than once until they drive away from the airport.

The radio plays some jazzy song, Killian humming under his breath along with the tune, and Emma taps the rhythm with her finger against the wheel. Everything around her – the road and the landscape and everything – seems familiar and foreign at once, which leaves her confused with every passing mile.

She glances Killian's way once in a while, just to be sure. He has that lost, misty look in his eyes as he looks at the landscape, and she bites her lip. It's not easy for her, to come back, but it's even worse for him – the house left empty and abandoned even since Liam's accident at sea, ever since the funeral. Coming back perhaps isn't the best of ideas, with all those ghosts still haunting the little town.

The pros had surpassed the cons, though – excitement at seeing their friends again weighting against the heaviness of the past. It's only one weekend. They have this.

At least that's what she tells herself when she parks behind Granny's and gets out of the car. Killian follows, out and then inside, carrying the bag and looking around him like a deer that's been caught in the highlights. She smiles and squeezes his free hand as she asks for the keys to their room. The boy behind the desk is one she doesn't remember ever seeing in town, but he's in his early twenties so it's not really surprising. Granny always liked to hire teens and students to give them a little boost in life.

"Is this as awkward for you as it is for me?" Killian asks once they're in the room.

Emma wrinkles her nose at that as she opens her bag and pulls out the dress she will wear tonight – black and simple, nothing fancy since she has no one to impress. When she looks up at him, he makes a face too, and she laughs a little.

"Last time we were here, Granny told us she doesn't rent by the hour."

It works. He laughs out loud, head tilt back and mouth open, and shakes his head with a roll of the eyes. "Prom," he says dramatically, and Emma joins him in his laughs.

Prom night seems eons away – ten years, for fuck's sake – but she still remembers it clearly. Remembers Granny's face when Killian has asked, very seriously despite being wasted for the first time in his life, if they could rent a room for the night as she kept giggling in his neck, high on alcohol and bad music and love. She doesn't remember much of the night in itself beside the itchy sheets and the most embarrassingly short heavy petting session known to earth.

All in all, a pretty great night.

Emma smirks at the memories as she pulls on the dress and turns her back to Killian so he can zip it up. The familiar shiver runs down her spine at his knuckles brushing against her bare skin, and she downright giggles when he drops a kiss to the nape of her neck. He doesn't need a new outfit, just shrugs into a clean shirt and mess with his hair a little, while she checks her eyeliner and applies a new coat of red lipstick to her lips.

It's as lazy as it goes but, then again – they have no one to impress, no past lover to conquer or enemy to make jealous. Just them and their high school friends for an evening of merriment.

Gosh, she hopes there will be booze this time.

(Authorized booze.)

She tells Killian as such and he laughs again, before he takes her hand and drags her out of the room. Storybrooke's streets are unsurprisingly empty as they make their way to the old school, and Emma has fun pointing out ever back alley where they made out as horny teenagers – Killian's ears turn pink in a second, and it's so endearing she has to stop and kiss his cheek because, god.

Music can be heard from outside as they make it to the old gymnasium, and Emma winces in advance knowing she'll have to do with Storybrooke High's weird tastes in music for one more night. She rolls her eyes at the Madonna song that starts playing as they stop at the entrance to pick their nametags – rolls her eyes even more at the woman batting her eyelashes at a clueless Killian. That's kind of adorable, really.

She's about to ask him if he wants something to drink when a shrilling scream startles them both. Emma laughs in surprise, even more so when Ruby – Ruby, in all her high heels and short skirt glory – pounces on them with another scream. One that may or may not sound like, "You fucking nerd!"

She hugs Emma quickly before turning to Killian, and punches him, both closed fists against his chest. "Look at you, all muscular and shit! My girl was so right to invest in you."

"I'm standing right there, Rubs," Emma replies. Can't hide the laugh in her voice.

"I know, isn't it great?" Ruby pulls her into another hug, for good measure, and Killian raises both his eyebrows behind the brunette's back, having Emma smirk in reply. "Now, come, come, come. The Nolans are over there."

The Nolans.

It feels weird, really, but good too. She had missed her friends, had missed Ruby's energy and the familiarity of their conversations, how right it feels to be by her side. And, as she hugs Mary Margaret, she realises she had missed her too, all quiet and soft and comforting – she had missed her mom friend, so much it hurts a little. (A lot.)

"I'm glad to see you," Mary Margaret tells Killian before she hugs him.

Lots of hugs. Hugs for everyone.

"Aye, me too," he replies – always the soft spot for the tiny brunette.

David soon pops out of nowhere with more red solo cups than he can carry, grinning at them and winking at Emma. Fatherhood suits him – suits them both, actually, but no surprise there – and he carries himself with a newfound pride despite the exhaustion at the corners of his eye and the smudge of baby vomit on his collar. Emma admires them for it, really.

Admires them so much that she's startled when Ruby grabs her hand and glares at it, then at Killian. "Where's the ring?"

"There's no ring," Emma replies simply.

"What." It doesn't sound like a question. "You guys are almost as disgusting as those two there."

("Hey," Mary Margaret complains without heat.)

"We're not getting married."

"Mickey and Minnie never got married," Killian chimes in. The fucking nerd. "They were fine."

"They're mice."

"I fail to see how that's relevant."

Emma snorts into her cheap beer as he wraps an arm around her shoulders as to prove his point, all smug proud and raised eyebrows against Ruby's opened mouth. It's really hard not to laugh – their friends in New York don't care about those things, but Storybrooke is conservative that way so she isn't surprised their lack of marital status would make waves. She just didn't expect it from Ruby of all people but how well.

Ruby is nothing if unpredictable.

She clicks her tongue, all annoyed, before David starts a new topic with a roll of the eyes of his own – something about his twin being there too, so he apologizes in advance for all the shitty things James will do. It makes Emma snorts a little, and she relaxes in Killian's embrace, leaning against his chest as she sips the cheap, lukewarm beer from her cup. The conversation flows easily from there, just the five of them – an old friend come to greet them every so often, but they're good keeping to their own for now.

That is, until Mary Margaret decides it is time to dance, and so Killian raises an eyebrow at her as he offers her his hand. Emma huffs a bit, for the heck of it, and mouth 'Adele?' even as she lets him drag her to the dance-floor. She wraps her hand around his neck, careful to keep a safe distance between them, and Killian laughs before pulling her to him with his hand on the small of her back.

Emma grins into his collarbone as she leans her forehead against his shoulder and – yes, it feels like prom all over again, with less glasses and more muscles. She can't complain about that, even if she likes it best when he doesn't wear his contacts, something adorable about his baby blue eyes behind the heavy frames of his glasses.

She shares another dance with Killian before David forces her to dance a Lindi Hop with him (the disaster), and then comes the obligatory Spice Girls song that has Ruby running towards her like her life depends of it, Mary Margaret close behind. Emma laughs and screams from the top of her lungs, jumping until her ankles hurt. She's out of breath before the second verse and, when the song finally ends, all but collapses against Killian's chest with a chuckle at the corner of her lips.

He laughs too, and pulls her to him so she doesn't fall. "Let's take a break," he tells her, mouth close to her ear so she can hear him above the music.

Emma nods against his collarbone, expecting him to lead her towards their table. Instead, he laces his fingers with her and walks towards a corner of the gymnasium. With a finger to his lips (dork), he opens the door, the one leading towards the main building.

"Oh my, Mister Jones," she fake-whispers. "A true criminal."

He pouts at her, mirth dancing in his eyes, as the door closes behind them, muffling the music a little. The hallway is dark, only illuminated by the red exit lights – it gives the place an atmosphere out of a horror movie, not that Emma minds all that much. She likes how illegal it feels, too, like they will be sent to the principal's office for trespassing if they get caught.

A snort escapes her lips when they stop in front of one door in particular, and Killian points at the keyhole with a flourish of the hand. "If you could do us the honour," he asks her in his most pompous voice, and she fights the urge to slap the back of his head.

Instead, she kneels in front of the lock, and raises her hands to her hair so she can use one of the bobby pins keeping her hair up. She hasn't done it in ages – not without the right tools, at least, because breaking into places is part of her job – and so it takes her a while before she hears the telltale 'click' that comes with an opening lock.

She throws Killian a victorious grin, one he mirrors as he grabs her hand to pull her to her feet. He kicks the door open, shelves after shelves of books coming into view despite the darkness of the library. It still smells the same, and Emma closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath once she has stepped inside.

When she opens her eyes again, Killian is already by the other side of the room, walking towards the familiar table like he owns the place. Emma allows her eyes to travel down to his backside before she grins a little. "Is it still there?" she asks him when he stops in front of their table.

Killian bends forwards, fingers brushing against the edge of the table. He laughs a little, a throaty chuckle, as his fingers find the engraving there – nothing but a cheesy 'E + K 2015' she had done with her scissors on the last day of school because she liked the idea of claiming the table as their own.

She sits on the table, feet kicking in the air, before she points to the History section of the library with her finger. "This is where I asked you out."

Killian breathes a little 'awww' but the sarcasm of his tone doesn't fit the grin on his lips as he nudges her knees apart to stand between her legs. Emma raises an eyebrow as she grabs the buckle of his belt to pull him closer to her.

"I had fantasies about this," he tells her, so serious Emma can only laugh out loud.

"People will notice if we're gone for too long."

"We can make it quick."

"Don't I know it," she teases, relishing in his offended face before she grabs him by the collar to crash his lips to hers.

It is hurried and hungry and – yeah, maybe she had fantasies about that too. She moans into the kiss when he bites down on her bottom lip, and leans on her arms so he can bundle the skirt of her dress up and around her hips. He pulls her to him in one swift move, laughing against her mouth when their hips collide. She feels like a teenager again, hiding in dark corners for a quickie, and it's almost embarrassing how wet she is already from just making out.

If the sound he makes at the back of his throat when his fingers slip under her underwear is anything to go by, Killian doesn't mind in the least. She tells him to shut up while her fingers fumble with his belt, opening his pants just enough to slid them down his hips. They aren't looking for finesse here anyway, so this will work just fine – especially when Killian wastes no time shrugging her off her underwear until it hangs by her ankle, before he aligns his hips with her.

She smirks into his mouth as her hands move to grab his ass, pulling him forcefully towards him. It does the job, both of them groaning at the feeling of him inside her, stretching her delightfully. They make quick work of it from there, despite Emma's earlier protests, Killian's fingers finding her clit easily while his other hand cling to her hair.

It's hurried and passionate and all kinds of wrongs – his teenager self would have blushed so hard at even the thought of doing it. But Emma can't say she minds, not when she has to bite down on his shoulder, just to muffle her moans. He rubs at her clit more vigorously when her breathing starts being more laboured, hips in rhythm with the movement of his fingers. It's too much and not enough at once, so she pulls him into another kiss, loses herself in the feelings of his tongue against her.

Anybody could catch them – they're neither discreet nor silent, door still wide open, the slap of skin against skin mixing with their moans and groans. It adds to the thrill of it, to the feeling of how wrong it is, and that thought alone tips Emma over the edge. She sees white and stars as she moans into his neck, clinging to his ass like her life depends of it.

Killian follows a few second later, with her name on his lips and his hand in her hair. They stare at each other for long moments, breathing hitching every so often, before Emma starts giggling like the schoolgirl she hasn't been in a very long time. Killian laughs with her as he fishes for a tissue in the pocket of his pants, cleaning her up quickly.

"This is so wrong," he tells her – a flash of the nerdy little virgin behind the newfound swagger – and Emma snorts a little. She leans into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiles when he brushes his lips to hers; such a sharp contrast between the softness of this kiss and what they just did.

"Is teenager you happy right now?"

"Present me is happy right now."

She laughs once more, and jumps off the table to shrug back into her underwear and smooth her dress down. She has no doubt a single glance at the both of them will be enough to know what they've been up to – his glassy eyes and her pink cheeks, both a little too sweaty for their own good – but Emma doesn't find it in herself to mind when they leave the library and close the door behind them.

Ruby snorts into her beer when they come back to their table.

Killian high-fives her.

(Some things truly never change.)

Things settle down after that. The girls decide to dance some more, Killian and David dragging their feet even as they follow. Ruby even manages to convince Graham Humbert to dance with her – he must have forgotten how horrific dating her was, bless his soul – and it goes downhill from there with all their old friends. Emma finds herself in a conversation with Kathelyn, even if she's never spoken to the woman during their high school years, and she shares a drink with Jack, who is apparently married to James now. (This is disturbing on so many levels, she just elects to ignore it.)

The DJ slowly but surely makes sure the songs become less and less energetic as time passes by, and it's well past 2 in the morning when the old janitor basically has to kick them out of the school. They say goodbye to the Nolans and then follow Ruby back to the diner, promising they will share breakfast together the following morning before leaving for the airport.

Emma barely shrugs out of her dress before she's face-planting on the bed with a groan of satisfaction. Killian chuckles a little, but he sounds exhausted too, and he soon joins her in bed in nothing more than his boxers. Emma lets him manhandle her until they're snuggling, her back against his chest and his arm around her waist.

He kisses her shoulder with a smile, then yawns a little. "No Adele song tonight."

"The utter disappointment."